


Love You, Too

by Cant_We_Just_Dance



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Because lams i guess, Cheating, Death, Fancy Bullshit Writing, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Infidelity, Jamilton - Freeform, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Poetic, overly poetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 10:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13098288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cant_We_Just_Dance/pseuds/Cant_We_Just_Dance
Summary: The peculiar thing about sunlight is that it is only meant to last for a certain amount of time. No matter how bright it shines or how brilliantly it gleams along the windows of skyscrapers, sunlight is meant to come to an end. Summers were easy to forget such a thing, with the days that stretched on into forever, and evening not until the uncertain future. Winters were different. Winters brought shortened sunlight, so much so that it seemed only to be a faint memory when the light ended and brought with it the stars of night.So it only made sense that Alexander Hamilton arrived at the office halfway through winter.





	Love You, Too

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cicileal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cicileal/gifts).



> Heyyyyyy so Cicileal, I loved your story Golden RIng, and since you kinda inspired this one, it's for you <3.

Thomas was those last few rays of sunlight at the end of a day. 

The way golden beams cut through one’s hair and stung their eyes, how some would lay still and bask in the glow while others would criticize it, how it was so perfect and yet so unreachable- that was Thomas. 

Words would cut through the branches of trees, scattering a strange mix of shadows and sunlight onto the ground below. He would weave blades of grass into something so sharp and cutting that none would be able to reflect it. He could twist and turn and break and shatter and do anything required of sunlight in those few moments before dusk; that, however, was not meant to last forever. 

The peculiar thing about sunlight is that it is only meant to last for a certain amount of time. No matter how bright it shines or how brilliantly it gleams along the windows of skyscrapers, sunlight is meant to come to an end. Summers were easy to forget such a thing, with the days that stretched on into forever, and evening not until the uncertain future. Winters were different. Winters brought shortened sunlight, so much so that it seemed only to be a faint memory when the light ended and brought with it the stars of night. 

So it only made sense that Alexander Hamilton arrived at the office halfway through winter. 

The snowstorms and snowfalls of winter were never something Alexander enjoyed, nor was it something he was all that used to. In truth, winter would never be Alexander. Winter brought with it cold nights, nights with hail and sleet and snow- all things that blocked starlight. In truth, the sun is a star, as anyone above the age of nine ought to know. But stars are not a sun. 

Stars are a being, if one looks carefully enough, with baited breath and silent song. They twinkle with each step as they bring new thoughts, new startling realizations, to the world below. Without careful thought, they are left to strike down in lightning bolts, which only serve to show their mind and hide their true selves. Burning so bright from somewhere so far away, with the ferocity of hidden color- that was Alexander. Alexander with the stars in his eyes that he could never stop from shining, Alexander with those dark midnight smiles, Alexander Alexander Alexander.

The nature of sunlight is not a complex one, nor is it easily contained in a singular sentence- rather, the forms of sunlight only need few words to shine light upon their truest forms. Those first beautiful beams, after the harshness of night time’s tight grip on the world? John Laurens. The man whose hair reflected infinite sunrises and held tree branches so tightly without fear of splinters of angry red marks. He brought with him the sunlight in early morning moments, carrying it across the sky to end the reign of starlight.

Perhaps that's why the two got along in such a bittersweet manner.

They did not fit together like puzzle pieces cut from the same cardboard, with a picture that seemed anything but forced. They had taken the bits and pieces that didn’t quite work and cut them off, stashing them away for a later day, a day that neither of them had wished to come. Alexander had found his place in the curves and dips of John’s body, had found space for the starlight to sing between his lover’s heavy breaths and almost silence.

Daybreak didn’t belong with the stars in the sky, that much John was sure of. Sun was supposed to shine on blades of grass and the greenest of tree leaves and snow glittering in the light like a million diamonds and on cotton-candy clouds tinged with dawn’s red sky. Not onto the already-bright stars that it was meant to drive away from its home in the sky. After the end of night, when midnight fell and the sun rose like a phoenix from the ashes of its former self, held together with the last remnants of starlight- that was the only moment they should have had together. But neither of them had ever been particularly attached to such things as ‘rules’. 

So their shattered-glass hearts did their best to fit together despite the shards being stained with different pigments. Little cut-off puzzle pieces tried to remain hidden in the shadows that only Alexander could move into laced bits of darkness. Were they to be found, nothing would fit anymore. John’s kisses wouldn’t trail like contorted constellations across Alexander’s chest in moments when neither of them wanted to be awake, wanted to rationalize what they were doing, how they could fit so perfectly and not at all at the same time. Were they better people, Alexander wouldn’t have been finding his path through the night by dancing along each of John’s freckles that were stars only if he closed his eyes and pressed his face against the man’s chest. Took in a deep breath, the smell of vanilla and deep dirt and a house that was never meant to be a home.

You can’t make home in a world that isn’t meant to exist, but you can sure as hell try.

After all, the puzzle pieces won’t mix with the leftover broken-heart shards until night is drowned out by the shine of day.

At first, it had been an almost-nothing that appeared in the form of Alexander casually mentioning a business dinner in a call to John. Almost-nothings are tricky creatures, much like fairies that wish to cause children harm. They are most certainly not unimportant, but that is the disguise they don when being tracked down by one’s stray thoughts in those lay-awake moments at night. An almost-nothing can kiss you silly and tie you down without having you feel the ropes until the love ceases and all that is left is the cold, unforgiving absolutely-nothing whose kisses are sharp instead of sweet. 

Thomas hadn’t been a threat. The end of day only stung one’s eyes, brought with it a promise of starlight to come- Alexander didn’t even like dusk. It wouldn’t make sense to be jealous, and yet he was. It was in the way Alex’s smile was softer after a ‘business dinner’, the way his starlit dance became twirled instead of spun by a thousand stray spiderweb silks.

He hadn’t meant to fall.

Stars belonged in the night sky, placed there so delicately by whatever being deemed it necessary to weave such tapestries of dreams that no one could ever truly capture. Yet falling had been as easy as leaning in that one night and pulling Thomas’s lips close to his own, close enough that he could feel his body heat in shaky waves as the man shivered. They’d been working through the night instead of arguing for once, and Thomas wore that magenta sweater, the one his sister had bought him years ago.

Where had Alexander learned that? It didn’t particularly matter to him, anyways, when Thomas was so close and his hand was tightly balling up the fabric to hold him there and refusing to meet his eyes. Instead of leaning in, as Alexander did slightly, Thomas pulled away from the grip. He took ALexander’s hand off of his sweater, smoothing out the fabric and looked down at him with a gaze that was not pitiful, nor was it spiteful. Alexander didn’t know what it was.

But it didn’t matter much to him, since Thomas’s hands were gentle on his hips and his lips were soft and dark and tasted like cherry cough drops from the weird glass bowl he always kept on his desk. Menthol didn’t matter, anyways. Not when he was being lifted onto the edge of the desk and kissed deeper, the light seeping into early stars, bringing it something it had never even known possible. Hate only brought things so far.

This, though? Whatever it was, it was different, it was spilling out over the brim, it was gentle, it was fiery and incredible and wrong. Not wrong in the way it felt when John kissed him. In those kisses, John had to be led, had to be shown that they weren’t doing much wrong at all, that allowing night to drag on for a few spare moments was a glory, not a shame. In these kisses, with short breaks to gasp for breath as they tugged each other’s clothes off, Thomas was doing the convincing. He led the dance, wrote the music, knew the moves and the words- Alexander didn’t. He was eager to learn, but… Only because John would never need to know.

He didn’t need to know how incredible it felt to be part of day for once instead of making day part of himself. He didn’t need to know the way Thomas’s lips trailed down his collarbone in a comet-like strike. Hre didn’t need to know how much better it felt. No one did. No one except the man causing those feelings.

So maybe they did it again, the next week, when the office was empty and the moon hung in the sky with barely a sliver of itself allowed to show. And again, when John cancelled a date due to work running late. Once more, when the supply closet wasn’t full of supplies, and everyone else was on lunch break.

It was supposed to be sex- and for Thomas, that hadn’t changed, it seemed.

Alexander though, had never been one to strike deals with Lady Luck. She had never been a fan of constellation-searching, anyways. So instead, Alexander traced his finger along the empty bed sheets in the form of Thomas’s almost-constellations, the ones that hid behind those dark eyes of his. The ones that looked at him angrily, like a prize to be won.

If only he knew that the prize was already his.

It only got worse. Every time Alexander saw the other man, butterflies that had been reserved for John fluttered in his stomach, and he forced himself to hold back and keep them for the man that had taken care of the broken being he’d been presented with. They held each other together, some nights. The nights where Alexander wasn’t drowning in dusklight and John lay with his almost-worries that had grown into vines round his lungs, as though he would begin coughing up roses from the thorns that pricked at his eyes when he thought of where his lover could be.

It was wrong, but only in the best ways. Only in the wake up at four in the morning because he remembered another perfect thing about him, kind of way. The bringing an extra cup of coffee without thinking about it, kind of way. In the way his hands would twirl in his own hair, only to be disappointed at the lack of gorgeous dark curls.

It was already impossible to deny, so he might have let himself admit it.

He had become enthralled with the man that had made supernovas burst in his heart.

Until the supernova found its way into Thomas’s apartment building, burning so bright, so hot, too hot too hot so hot he can't breathe why can’t he-

The doctors said that he hadn’t suffered.

Alexander hadn’t gone to the funeral. He wasn’t invited, anyways. Who would invite their dead brother’s fuckbuddy to said brother’s funeral.

But as Alexander stood at the foot of Thomas’s grave, breathing in the sunlight that shined too bright at the end of the day, almost ringing the sky with color but not quite, he smiled. It was not a happy smile, nor was it a forced one. 

It was a promise.

A promise that he silently swore as he pressed his lips to the shining grey stone, tightly clenching his phone in his hand until it began to ring.

“I’ll be home soon, John. Just needed to stop by the office and pick up some stuff. Love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Did you like this fic? I hope you did, I spent a long time writing it- I would love if you found the time to comment, or chill with me over on my tumblr, @jamisahivemind!


End file.
